


A Change of Plans

by kitkatkaylie



Series: Jonmund Week 2020 [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Before Battle of the Bastards, Jonmund Week 2020, Love expressed through violence against enemies, M/M, Missing Scene, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:40:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23277970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitkatkaylie/pseuds/kitkatkaylie
Summary: Jon had wanted to get away from everything, from duty and the Wall and the memories of his death. And then his little sister had shown up and all his plans had changed.But at least he still had Tormund by his side.Written for Day 1 of Jonmund week 2020: Missing Scene
Relationships: Tormund Giantsbane/Jon Snow
Series: Jonmund Week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1673965
Comments: 2
Kudos: 70





	A Change of Plans

Jon had wanted to leave everything behind after he woke up again, he wanted to go as far from the Wall and the men who had killed him as he could. To Essos or Southryos, or even Dorne if he could not reach the other two, somewhere warm where he could dip his feet into the sea and not worry about duty. He had thought about inviting Tormund along, he would want company and struggled to think of someone who was better company and who would not judge him for wanting to escape than the Wildling.

And it had not even mattered that by abandoning the Wall, by leaving the Watch to fight against the ever-encroaching darkness, he would bring dishonour upon the Stark name. It did not matter for there were no Starks left.

None of his family left.

Or that had been what he had believed right up until his little sister rode into the courtyard of Castle Black, half-starved and half-frozen and had flung herself into his arms. Then it seemed like all his plans had changed.

Her descriptions of the torments she had been put through, the scars that peaked over the shoulders of her dress, even the way she looked at him with wariness as though expecting him to betray her; all of it inspired a deep, bitter anger in his chest. He was ashamed how long it took for Sansa to get him to agree to take back their home; but when the letter came through threatening them all, threatening Tormund and Rickon and Sansa, it left Jon no choice.  
Sansa had slowly recounted everything from her time in Winterfell, her time with the Boltons, to him, in the hopes that there was some detail that they could use to gain an advantage. It had broken his heart as she had spoken of her torments with a blank expression and flat voice, only showing emotion when she broke down in his arms at the end, sobbing deeply until finally falling into sleep still clinging to him.

Jon could not bring himself to move her, and so stayed in place, with thoughts swirling around his head and memories he thought long forgotten making themselves known again.

A knock on the door dragged Jon from his contemplation and from the trance that the repeated motions of stroking Sansa’s hair and her deep breaths left him in. He quietly, carefully called out for whoever it was to enter.

He was not ashamed to be relieved when a familiar head of bright red hair pushed around the door, soon followed by the comforting bulk of Tormund.

“So this is where you are hiding, little crow.” Tormund grinned, “Found someone else to keep you company.”

Jon screwed up his face in disgust, “That is vile, she’s my sister.”

Tormund waggled his eyebrows, “Isn’t that how you kneelers do things? I thought your kings and queens were all sibling fuckers.”

Jon shook his head, he should have known that the history lessons he had given to the wildling would come back and bite him.

“Well I’m no Targaryen or Lannister. I have no desire to fuck my sister.”

The idea made him feel almost as ill as the scars upon her back, for he had sworn to protect her just as Robb had when they first set eyes on her as a babe. Even when she had grown distant from him as she grew, even as her mother encouraged her not to spend time with him, that feeling of brotherly protection had not faded. And now to find out that she had been tortured, it was too much to bear.

Some of his thoughts must have crossed his face, for Tormund’s expression turned from teasing to concerned.

“What happened, Little Crow? What’s wrong?”

Jon answered Tormund’s question, not with words, but by sweeping Sansa hair to the side to show the scarring that reached higher than the neck of her gown.

Fury filled Tormund’s eyes at the sight, and really Jon did not know why he had expected anything different. Tormund might have enjoyed battle, but he had never condoned torture.

“The fucker who sent the letter did that to her?” Tormund growled, all hints of teasing gone from his voice.

Jon could not bring himself to speak, could not trust that an outpouring of words would not spring from his mouth and disturb the rest of his little sister. He clenched his jaw and nodded his head in a sharp, jerky movement, all the while smoothing Sansa’s hair in an attempt to soothe his rapidly rising temper.

Tormund reached out with a large hand to gentle cradle Jon’s cheek, “I promise you this, my little crow, we will do all we can to bring that bastard to justice. But we will not take his life, no that we will leave so you or your sister might watch as the light leaves his eyes, as the piss runs down his legs in fear, and as his face twists into a final expression of pure terror.”

For such violent, vengeful words they were said in a tone as tender as one used to pay a sweet compliment to a lover. It made something inside Jon twist, the tenderness combined with the protectiveness, all mixing together in his gut and making him feel things that he had not felt since holding Ygritte in his arms, only this time without the bitter tinge of knowing he was going to betray the person who was the object of his affections.

“Tormund,” He called out softly, “I, I think-”

He was cut off with a single finger pressed against his lips.

“I know what you want to say, Jon Snow.” Tormund said just as softly, “But do not tell me yet. Tell me after the battle, if we still live. Tell me when we are in your sister’s castle, once her pain has been avenged. Tell me when we can do something about it.”

Tormund pressed the lightest of kisses against Jon’s lips, so light it felt as delicate as flutter of a butterfly’s wings, and left the room without a backward glance.

Jon was left staring after him, hoping against all hope that they would both survive the battle to come. 


End file.
